


The Art of Diplomacy

by raunchyandpaunchy



Series: Frostfall [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Boot Worship, Double Penetration, Enemies to Lovers, Femdom, Impact Play, Kinktober, Multi, One Shot, Rough Kissing, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 06:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16613297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy
Summary: Riverwood's most infamous love triangle comes to blows, and Camilla decides it's high time she taught the men how to get along.





	The Art of Diplomacy

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to both Syllis and spiney for betaing the heck outta this for me! <3
> 
> Based on the following Kinktober prompts: Dom/Sub (11th), Thigh Highs (20th), and Latex/Leather (22nd).

The Riverwood Trader was quiet. Camilla read a book by the hearth, listening to the crackle of the fire as her brother peered out the window, his vision only partly obscured by the rivulets of water running down it.

“Looks like your admirers are having a tiff over you,” Lucan called over absently.

“Hmm?” Camilla replied, only half-listening as the door to the Trader swung open.

“Scurrilous bastard!” Sven growled, face puce with rage as he twisted the collar of Faendal’s jerkin taut. “Framing me with your poison pen.”

Faendal shrugged Sven off, his face contorted in a sneer. He pulled a letter from his pocket, reading the words with venom. “‘Understand your people's place in the Aldmeri Dominion?’ ‘Befoul my bloodline?’ Fucking buffoon - you think I’m some Altmer? No surprise - I’m sure all elves are the same to your simple mind.”

Sven scoffed. “And I suppose all Nords are all misogynist pigs? ‘I yearn to have you as my own, washing my linens, and my fine blond hair,’” Sven read, voice curling with derision. “Can’t believe you thought that would sound plausible, you stupid prick.”

“Better than your usual bardic offerings,” Faendal smirked, grey eyes flickering in challenge. “The College should give you a refu-”

Sven’s punch knocked the Bosmer off his feet and into the pottery display opposite the counter. Lucan, suddenly less amused, lunged forward to intervene.

“Camilla! He -” Sven began, before being cut short by Faendal’s elbow crashing into his ribs and a swiftly delivered left hook to his jaw. The men scrambled, snarling and furious, until Lucan pried them apart, grabbing them both by their shirt collars and dragging them as far away from each other and his merchandise as he could.

“Don’t care what in Oblivion your problem is,” Lucan growled. “But this is a place of business! Take your brawling elsewhere.”

The pair looked like a couple of scolded schoolboys for a moment, sheepish and ashamed.

“Sorry Camilla, Lucan,” Faendal muttered, eyes still narrowed at Sven as a deep bruise began to bloom on his left cheekbone.

Sven met Faendal’s sidelong look with a glare of his own, his hand massaging the spot where the Bosmer’s fist had made contact. “Won’t happen again,” he grudged.

Lucan huffed. “See that it doesn’t.”

 

* * *

 

“So… If you’re going to have men fighting over you, can you make sure they do it in the street?”

Camilla glared. “Sod off, Lucan! I had no idea that was going to happen.”

Lucan snorted. “Really? You lead two men on in a tiny village for months on end and you have no idea that it was going to end in a fight?”

Camilla stood up. “Lead them on? I’ve been honest with them both,” she said, furious. “Pig-headed oafs, the pair of them. Think trickery and deception is the way to a girl’s heart. I didn’t make them come in here and fight.” Camilla looked directly into her brother’s eyes, her voice shaking with rage. “And you’re an even bigger oaf than they are if you believe it’s all my fault, Lucan.”

The silence between the two was palpable. Camilla could hear the rain settle down, but it ran steadily from the guttering. Fury cooled to hurt, and she tried to hold back the tears welling in her eyes.

“I never said it was your fault,” said Lucan. _Stubborn bastard never could apologise._ “Just… we’ve got a business to run. Could you at least make sure they pay for...” He looked down at the broken goods.

An idea started to form, sprouting and growing wild like creep cluster. _I’ll make them pay, alright._ Camilla’s wounded expression faded into a faint smile as her plans took root. “You’re right, Lucan. The business comes first. And didn’t you say you had some things to pick up from some contacts in Whiterun? And that you wanted some time away?”

“Yes, but... “

“Go to Whiterun for a few days, enjoy yourself. In the meantime, I’ll get Sven and Faendal to work off their debt.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

Camilla smiled at him: “Oh, and when you get there, could you deliver a letter to Adrianne Avenicci of Warmaiden’s for me?”

 

* * *

 

Gerdur at the sawmill had taken some persuasion, but she acknowledged having the two feuding men at the same workplace would result in less work rather than more. Bruised faces and bruised egos aside, the men’s presence was a welcome change in the store; Sven’s boyish charm and idle singsong, Faendal’s quick wit and sharp eye.

On Loredas, the package finally arrived, alongside a sealed letter.  
  


_Camilla,_

_Insignia was still intact when I got your letter, so no need to chew your brother’s ear off._

_Have sent you the items you requested. I’ve already told you I don’t take payment for loans, so save the coin I returned to buy me a drink when you next see me. You can fill me in on what you need all this stuff for while you’re at it._

_Yours,  
_ _Adrianne Avenicci_

  
Camila grinned, prying open the box. Everything she’d asked for was there.

Opening the door to the Trader, Camilla called out to the two children playing outside. “Dorthe! Frodnar! How would you two like to be my couriers and make some coin?”

The pair ran over, grinning.

“Take this to Sven,” she said, handing Frodnar the letter. “No pranks or tricks, or I’ll summon a big scary wolf to chase you around the town. Dorthe, take this letter to Faendal.”

As the pair ran off, Camilla shut the door and turned over the shop sign from Open to Closed.

 

* * *

 

Camilla sat in her armchair as usual, two others opposite. A bottle of wine and three goblets sat atop a small table, illuminated by candlelight. Aromas of lavender and mountain flower blossom wafted through the room, vying with the distinctive scent of worn leather.

Three loud knocks at the door cut through the silence. Camilla opened the door to Sven, holding his lute. In the distance she could see Faendal approach, a bunch of wildflowers clutched in his hand. She ushered them both in, ignoring their looks of bemusement.

“Just in time,” Camilla said, smiling. “Come in, have a seat by the fire.”

Camilla poured the wine. The men sat in the chairs uncomfortably, as far apart as possible. Each eyed the other, warily.

“What is he doing here?” Sven hissed.

“I invited him,” Camilla said, sipping her wine.

“You said you longed to see me,” Faendal said, confused and irritated. “I suppose you told him that too?”

Camilla looked at Faendal. “I did, but I wasn’t lying! I care deeply for both of you.” She sipped her wine, licking an errant drop from her lip. “And I think the three of us need to have a chat.”

At this statement, both men reached forward for the goblets of wine they had been offered, Camilla holding them by their stems. As they reached out, Camilla withdrew the goblets slightly, and their hands brushed together for a brief moment. The two recoiled as if they’d touched white-hot steel, finally retrieving the goblets tentatively on their second attempt as they avoided eye contact with the other.  

“So, you both want to bed me that badly?"

Both men’s heads jerked up, dumbstruck by her question.

"Maybe I'll let you," Camilla said, lowering her voice further. "But we're going to have to lay down some ground rules. First: you two need to learn how to play nice.”

"I'm not giving you up to him," Sven fumed.

Faendal sneered. "She isn't yours, you -"

The flogger made an ear-splitting crack against the wall. Faendal and Sven each jerked in shock, and turned to regard Camilla.

"Boys. I want your attention. Second rule: What I say, goes. That means if I tell you to climb the 7,000 Steps on your fucking knees, you'd better be on your way to High Hrothgar." Her smile had taken on a thinner edge. "Understood?"

Both nodded, their faces paler than earlier.

"Good. And if I tell you to fuck me -" she breathed, her tongue touching her upper lip "- you'd best get to it.”

Fear warred with intrigue on the men’s faces. She stared each down. Their expressions were a treasure better than any golden claw. Her expression softened slightly as they murmured their agreement, Sven blushing violently.

"Good. Third rule.” Camilla ran an idle hand down over her dress, loosening the laces that held the fabric tight over her bust. “You can stop or leave anytime. If it gets too much, all you need to say is ‘Ebony’. But if you do, you go home, and the better man gets to have me. Neither of you want that, do you?”

They both shook their heads earnestly, their gazes flitting between Camilla’s eyes and her exposed cleavage.

“Didn’t think so. Shall we begin?”

Camilla led the men upstairs, where there were beds and plenty of floor space. Dim candlelight greeted them, highlighting each man’s distinctive features - Sven’s strong jaw and supple lips; Faendal’s elegant cheekbones and aquiline nose. She was sure she could make out new bruises lining their faces, too.

“You two have been fighting again.”

“He took a swing at me in the tavern,” Sven protested.

“Yeah, after you called me a limp-dicked cretin,” retorted Faendal.

Sven smirked. “Must’ve touched a nerve. Anyway, you started it, when you -”

The whip cracked again. Both men fell still.

“I’m not interested in who started it,” Camilla said, voice hardening. “Kiss and make up.”

The men laughed nervously, assuming Camilla’s words to be in jest. When her expression remained unchanged, their laughter stopped, their expressions shifting from discomfort to incredulity.

“You can’t be serious,” a now narrow-eyed Faendal hissed.

“Oh, I’m deadly serious,” Camilla said calmly. “You don’t have to do it. You can walk out that door. But you do that - either of you - you lose me. Forever.”

She watched the men’s internal struggle play across their faces; their distaste for the other still strong but overshadowed by their desire for her. Sven was the first to move, closing the gap between them in a short stride and sizing Faendal up with a dubious stare.

“Let’s just get this over with, elf,” Sven muttered, approaching to loom over him.

The pair pressed their lips together in a forced, chaste kiss, their bodies tense and held apart. After mere moments they separated, both breathing heavy sighs of relief.

“Oh, no. That won’t do at all,” Camilla giggled darkly. “Do it like you mean it. Like you want to kiss me. Deeply. Passionately.”

The pair looked at Camilla, aghast.

“Make me believe it, and maybe I _will_ let you kiss me.” Camilla smiled wickedly. “Whoever makes me think it’s real - I’ll let you kiss every inch of me…”

At this promise, Sven growled, pressing his arm against Faendal's chest. His lips pressed down hard against the Bosmer's. Faendal grabbed his hair and met his intensity in kind. Somewhere between a kiss and a fight; Faendal grasped Sven's fair locks in a twisting tug as Sven's fingers sunk hard into Faendal’s still-bruised skin.

"Give up," Sven murmured, his fingers pinching at the elf's ear. Faendal pulled his head down further. Growls and moans escaped the pair as they bit on each other's lips, scratching and gripping, the gap between them now completely closed.

“That’s enough,” Camilla said, her voice startling the men. They sprang apart, faces flushed and lips swollen.

Camilla smiled. “Undress.”

The pair looked at each other, then to her. Camilla’s smile faded. “ _Undress._ ”

Quickly and eagerly, the men disrobed, pulling off their shirts and breeches in a race to be first. Eventually they both stood exposed before Camilla, their bodies bruised and cocks hard.

“Mmm, so eager to present yourselves to me,” Camilla purred. “Perhaps I should do the same.” She finished undoing the laces on the front of her dress. The fabric slowly and softly descended downward, exposing the leather harness underneath, her pert breasts cupped between the straps.

“By the Gods,” Faendal gasped, voice strained with lust. Sven silently bit his lip, his thoughts writ large on his face.

Camilla smiled sweetly at the pair. “Kneel.”

She wiggled seductively out from the remainder of her dress, exposing the rest of her body harness - straps clinging to her hips and arse, tracing round to allow ample access to her cunt. Further down, a pair of thigh-high boots completed the ensemble; pitch-black polished leather that clung to every curve of her shapely legs. Reaching over to the dresser, she retrieved two leather collars, their steel details glinting in the candlelight.

“You’re such sweet, obedient men when you’re behaving yourselves. You’d do anything I asked, wouldn’t you?”

They nodded.

“Excellent. Because tonight, you’re both mine,” she said, fastening the first collar around Sven’s neck, hearing his breath catch at the caress of leather and metal against skin. “Your bodies, mine. Your wills, mine. Your desire,” Camilla murmured, fastening the buckle of Faendal’s collar and tracing down his back as she departed, “Mine.”

The men’s breaths went ragged. The wooden chair creaked as Camilla sat down opposite, taking them in, her gaze never faltering.

“Such beautiful bodies,” Camilla mused, her hand tracing the contours of her own lithe frame. “Shame to have them marred by bruises, don’t you think?” When no answer was forthcoming, Camilla continued. “Sven, I think you should apologise to Faendal and kiss his wounds.”

Sven hesitated.

“It pleases me when I see you both getting along,” Camilla said, her hand drifting down to her soft, trimmed cunt. Her fingers drifted along her smooth folds, idly exploring her own sex. She let out a moan when they dipped inward and were met by abundant wetness, her excitement at the scene unfolding now painfully evident. “Kiss him better, taste his skin. Then you can taste me and see which you prefer.”

Sven needed no further persuasion. He inched towards Faendal on his knees. Sven cleared his throat. “I’m - I’m sorry, Faendal,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. Gingerly, he placed a tender kiss on Faendal’s cheekbone where his first punch had made contact, over the greens and yellows of the fading bruise.

Sven continued downward to the marks that mottled Faendal’s chest; fresher, fiercer bruises joining older ones. Camilla watched, stroking herself as Sven ducked down to trace his lips against each one, gentle against Faendal’s smooth skin. Faendal’s eyes locked onto her, watching her every move as he struggled to keep composure. Camilla watched him bite hard on his lip, his eyes half-shut with lust. Sven’s hand touched each spot he’d kissed, the soft noises of his attentions accompanied by the Bosmer’s heavy breathing and Camilla’s occasional moans of approval.

“Very good,” Camilla crooned approvingly, still touching herself. “Now it’s your turn, Faendal.”

Gleaming grey eyes took Sven in, glancing at his bare body and stiff, bobbing cock. Faendal’s lip curled.

“I’m so sorry, Sven,” he breathed, yanking the Nord’s blonde locks as he kissed along his bruised jaw. “I beg your...forgiveness.” His lips moved slowly over the cluster of scratches that covered Sven’s neck. Camilla could hear the sneer in his voice. “Please. Accept my sincerest apologies,” he drawled, the sardonicism in his tone giving the lie to his words. Camilla watched as Faendal kissed across Sven’s broad, blonde-haired chest, his lips touching each mark that laid under the coarse hairs. She saw his fingers press against each bruise, firmer than was necessary, prompting a sharp intake of breath from Sven as Faendal moved further down his body. He kissed along his stomach, venturing towards the spot where his elbow had made impact with the Nord’s ribs. Sven let out a rumbling moan as Faendal ran his hand along his stomach, kissing the sore spot deeply and grazing it with his teeth.

“That’s enough, Faendal,” Camilla warned, her voice low. “I thought I told you to play nice.”

His eyes darted to the floor, trying to hide his amusement. “Sorry, Camilla.” He demonstrably was not.

“ _Miss_ Camilla,” she corrected. “And If you can’t behave yourself, I’m going to have to punish you.” Her free hand retrieved the flogger from the floor, idly swishing the tails through the air as she watched Faendal squirm under her gaze. “Sven. Come here.”

Sven complied, his knees scraping against the floor as he crawled over to her. She withdrew her fingers, extending them towards him. Eagerly he opened his mouth, licking clean the juices that had collected there, moaning as he did so.

“How do I taste, my pet?” Camilla murmured, retrieving her fingers from Sven’s mouth.

“Like Sovngarde itself, Miss,” Sven replied, his breaths heavy.

Camilla smiled, her eyes meeting the Nord’s smouldering blue ones. “Would you like to taste more?”

“Gods, yes,” Sven said, nearly falling into Camilla as he crawled further towards her.

Camilla inched forward in her chair as Sven bent forward to meet her, pressing his face between her spread legs and breathing in her scent. She balled her fist in his hair and pulled it as he let out a sharp gasp, peppering her thighs with kisses and working his way further towards her drenched core. Impatient and greedy, she yanked him further into her, sighing with pleasure as she felt Sven’s tongue lap across her sex, savouring every drop of her wetness.

“Doesn’t it feel good to behave, my pet?” Camilla asked in lust-soaked tones. “To taste me and bring me to my pleasure, while boys who can’t behave themselves have to watch it happen?”

Sven nodded and moaned into her, lapping at her cunt with renewed fervour. Her thighs tightened around his head as she gripped his hair harder. Frenzied, Camilla rutted against Sven’s face as she used him wholly for her own pleasure, her release building as she heard him lap and lick and pant under her. She let her own cries escape her as she was consumed by her orgasm, intense and aggressive, the vibrations wracking her body as she felt her desire run from her core into Sven’s eager mouth.

“Good boy.” She traced her free hand over her breast and collarbone, centring herself. “Faendal, come here.”

Sven retreated as Faendal crawled towards Camilla, his lithe frame more nimble and graceful than the Nord’s had been. Camilla stood up, looming over the Bosmer as she stroked the tails of the flogger through her fingers.

“Stand up. Bend over that chair.”

Faendal’s grey eyes were stormy and sullen as he did as he was told. Camilla paced around him, letting his suspense build before raining down her retribution.

“This,” _SLAP!_ “Is what happens,” _SLAP!_ “When naughty boys,” _SLAP!_ “Can’t behave themselves.”

She paused, listening to Faendal’s breaths as the pink marks formed on the gold flesh of his bare arse.

“I’m going to give you a dozen more, and you’re going to take them all, aren’t you?” Camilla whispered in his ear, her hot breath making the pointed end twitch. She blew lightly against them, grinning as she heard Faendal whimper needily at her attentions.

“Y-yes, Miss Camilla,” Faendal croaked, shivering under her.

“Good,” she purred, looping her fingers under his collar and giving it a light pull. “And then, you’re going to apologise properly to Sven, aren’t you, Faendal?”

His response was little more than a whisper. “Of course.”

Camilla’s hand withdrew. Her flogger cracked down, the loud _thwap_ echoing throughout the room. Faendal grunted, gripping the back of the chair as eleven more strikes followed, hard and merciless against the supple flesh of his rapidly pinkening bottom.

“Well done, my pet,” Camilla cooed, admiring her handiwork. “Now, what do you have to say to Sven?”

“Gods, I’m sorry,” Faendal groaned, finally contrite. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“There, isn’t that much better? Sven, look how sorry he is. I think you should kiss his wounds and let him know that you accept his apology.”

Sven’s previous look of bliss shifted immediately to a look of puzzlement. “I thought we were -”

“Shall I fetch the paddle?” Camilla asked, the threat in her words betraying the sweetness in her voice. “Back down on your knees, Faendal.”

Situating herself back on the chair, she let the men arrange themselves - both knew where they needed to be, and what the consequences were if they didn’t oblige. Faendal swiftly made his way over to her, shimmying between her legs as Sven awkwardly shuffled behind him, waiting.

“Not yet,” Camilla commanded, yanking Faendal’s collar. “Start at my boots, and work your way up.”

Camilla watched as Faendal prostrated himself before her, lavishing her boots with his mouth; his lips sinking into the supple black leather, his tongue licking along her calf, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake. When he reached the top, he looked up to Camilla, wordlessly seeking permission. Camilla nodded.

Faendal was far less slow than Sven had been, and far more precise. He seemed to know exactly where to zero in on to make Camilla squirm, and needed no direction. Faendal’s tongue traced along her wet lips, coaxing its way inside as it circled her clit and fucked her centre, laving and lapping and manipulating her in ways she had never imagined. Her hands tightened in Faendal’s ponytail as her grip on her own control loosened, her own pleasure finally winning out as her orgasm crashed over her. All sounds were drowned out by the ocean crash of her own pleasure, wave after wave of it consuming her wholly. She was completely lost in it, nothing existing for a moment except the throbbing bliss that emanated from her core.

When she could bear to let go of Faendal, she did. Camilla’s eyes gently opened, looking down at Faendal’s face, streaked with satisfaction and slickness.

“Sven did kiss my wounds better,” Faendal murmured, licking his lip as he savoured the taste of Camilla. “But I don’t feel like he _meant_ it.”

Camilla raised her eyebrow at Faendal before turning to Sven. His gaze averted hers, guilt etched over his face.

“Over the bed, Sven,” Camilla commanded, opening her dresser drawer. “I warned you there’d be consequences.”

She ran her fingers over the lacquered mahogany of the paddle. _Some of Adrianne’s finest work._ She gripped the handle, marvelling at the feel of it in her hands - weighty, yet surprisingly easy to wield.

“Now, I’m going to give you ten smacks, and you’re going to thank me for them,” Camilla explained, her mouth curling cruelly. “Then, Faendal’s going to kiss your sore, aching arse all better and show you how to do it properly, isn’t he?”

Faendal looked sheepish, but only a little. “Yes, Miss Camilla,” he responded, grinning.

“Good.” Camilla’s hand traced across Sven’s back. “Count.”

Sven’s counting grew more laboured as the paddle made impact with his arse, the cacophonous claps echoing throughout the room. Obediently he counted, pleading for another spanking as his eyes pleaded for mercy, grunting and groaning as Camilla delivered her blows. By the time he reached the end, his arse glowed red, the rest of his body shaking with unbound tension.

“Thank you, Miss Camilla,” Sven breathed, still riding out the aftermath of her punishment.

Camilla stroked his tender flesh, feeling the warmth underneath her palms. “Well done, my pet. Faendal, come kiss him better.”

She had to stifle a giggle at how quickly and eagerly he obliged, casting Camilla a sly grin as he approached Sven. _Someone was enjoying this._ Faendal’s lips pressed softly and sweetly against Sven’s punished buttocks, sprinkling each one with gentle kisses, almost melting into the Nord’s rosied flesh. Faendal moaned in delight as he gave himself over to the moment, Sven backing into his attentions. It was hard to believe the men had been sworn enemies mere hours ago.

“See, isn’t it better when we can all get along?” Camilla crowed. “I think you both deserve a reward.”

Both men turned to face her, their eyes alight with eager desire. Camilla returned their gaze.

“I told you both the winner would get to bed me, but you’ve both won,” she smiled, pacing towards the bed with a small glass bottle in her hand. “Congratulations.”

Sven stared, dumbfounded.

“Since you’ve learned to work so well together, one of you can take my cunt, while the other takes my arse.”

Camilla traced her hands over their bodies, taking them in and letting her hands wander to their stiff cocks. Faendal’s was sizable, but manageable. Sven’s looked to be more of a challenge.

“Well, there’s no way _that’s_ fitting back there,” Camilla concluded, palming Sven’s thick, hard endowment. A pleased look crept over his face, and he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Faendal, as if to silently gloat to his competitor.

“Let’s not look too smug just yet, pet,” Camilla growled, grabbing his jaw as she pushed him down onto the bed. “I’ve still to find out what it can do.” She let him squirm on the sheets as she turned to Faendal, handing him the bottle. “I’m sure you know what to do with this, pet. No such thing as too much. Do exactly as I say: no more, no less.”

Faendal nodded, a soft whine escaping his parted lips as he accepted the bottle.

Camilla climbed atop Sven, feeling his strong body hot under hers. “Same to you. You do what I say, when I say it. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss Camilla,” Sven gasped, his breath catching as she ran her wet core against his member, coating him thoroughly with her wetness. Slowly, she impaled herself on his cock, letting every inch of him fill her as she rolled her hips, revelling in the feeling. She pawed lazily at his tufted chest, giggling at his moans of anguished pleasure as he fought to keep composure.

“Faendal,” Camilla breathed, trying to maintain her own demeanour, “Enter me.”

She couldn’t stop her own noises of desire escaping her as she felt the head of Faendal’s cock press against her arsehole, slick and wet as it rubbed against the sensitive entrance, working in the cool liquid she could feel him pouring onto it. Camilla took the lead, backing up against his hot, stiff cock and sighing with delight as she felt it breach her, slowly lowering herself onto him and feeling her tight hole accommodate his length. It wasn’t long before she had taken him to the hilt, gasping as she revelled in the feeling of being so wonderfully filled.

“Gods, Faendal, fuck me,” she uttered, a note of pleading in her voice. “Sven, move with us.”

The men were only too happy to oblige, Faendal sliding his slick cock in and out gently at first, then gaining traction as he heard Camilla’s whimper underneath him. Sven responded in kind, eager to meet the Bosmer’s thrusts with his own, grasping Camilla’s breasts as he was driven deeper into her. The trio gradually got into a steady pace, the sounds of their deviance reverberating in Camilla’s ears as her breaths got faster and heavier, her pleasure building. Faendal kissed her shoulders as his hands gripped her hips, snaking under the leather of her harness as he pumped harder into her. Sven nibbled along her neck, his fingers looping into the straps as he joined Faendal. Camilla was lost in a sea of passion; the two men now united in their cause, the air of competition still there but with any venom taken out. As she gave herself over to them, she felt the heat build and grow, closer, faster, _more_ …

Her entire body convulsed around her lovers, milking them for every last sweet drop of their seed as she cried her release, biting down onto Sven’s shoulder. Sven’s hands tightened around the leather, gripping the reins firmly as his breaths grew short and ragged, his own release imminent. She could hear Faendal’s fast approaching too, gasps escaping him as he pistoned into her with unrelenting vigour.

“That’s it, my pets… come for me…”

Both pairs of hands tugged desperately against her harness as they held her, guttural growls and cries escaping them. For a moment, they all moved as one, their cocks pulsing as they shot warm, thick cum deep inside Camilla; their movements slowing and stuttering as they rode out the aftershocks of their orgasms, raw passion winding down to something more subdued.

They all waited a moment before separating, catching their breaths and basking in the heady afterglow of their shared passion. Camilla felt Faendal pull out and lifted herself from Sven’s spent cock, feeling both men’s leavings spill from her as she did so.

“Faendal, get me a cloth, please,” she murmured muzzily. “Top drawer of the dresser.”

He obliged and rejoined them on the bed, Camilla cleaned herself and nestled between the two former enemies.

“So,” Sven said, after what seemed like an eternity of comfortable silence. “What happens now?”

“We sleep, you idiot,” said Faendal.

Camilla turned to the Bosmer, eyebrow raised. “Are you two back to pretending to be enemies?” she grinned. “That’s fine - I’ll just have to make you kiss each other better again.”


End file.
